


le spectre de la rose

by ninanna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 12:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6566080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninanna/pseuds/ninanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In any alternate universe or timeline, if described Bokuto Koutarou and asked whether or not they would make good partners for dancing, or anything actually, Akaashi Keiji would confidently reply, "No."</p><p>Apparently real life doesn't work like hypothetical universes or timelines, he learns, much to his pleasant surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	le spectre de la rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Diana_sun_kittykat_95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_sun_kittykat_95/gifts).



> Dedicated to dear [@hoja-en-blanco](http://hoja-en-blanco.tumblr.com/), who is not only a very talented artist, but also one of my favourite people on tumblr. I hope you like this and I hope we continue to share many more fandoms and pairings, ❤

“Hey, let's start practising this afternoon!”

 

Akaashi blinks. It has been exactly 26 hours and 38 minutes since he has learnt the existence of one Bokuto Koutarou, only 22 minutes since they met for the first time, and 2 minutes since the teacher has left them to “get to know each other”. It is 11:48 P.M. On Friday.

 

Bokuto beams at him, amber eyes ominously wide, lips twitching in hardly contained vigour and the correct answer to this abrupt question should be, _Are you out of your mind? It's Friday._ or at least a pleading, _Can't we Monday?_ , but Akaashi replies with, “Alright.”

 

Bokuto punches air in victory and Akaashi is mildly shocked at himself, not even processing Bokuto's incessant rambling about how this will be oh so great and how they will be the best performance of the semester and so on.

 

The thing is, Akaashi doesn't like making rush decisions, which means any decision done without carefully considering all possible outcomes. However this time his lips moved before his analysis had even properly started. An unpredictable answer to an unpredictable question.

 

Akaashi does not like the unpredictable.

 

* * *

 

 

The same Friday, in the afternoon, Akaashi learns that Bokuto Koutarou is incredibly predictable and unpredictable at once, both an open book and an enigma altogether.

 

Bokuto is very easy to read because he's impossibly honest, wearing every emotion on his face for all to see, unabashed, uttering any thought without filter or concern for etiquette.

 

Case in point: as they stretch, merely three minutes into their session, Bokuto exclaims, “Wow! Akaashi! Your thighs are huge!”

 

Indeed, Akaashi's thighs are thicker than most fellow students' with similar builds. In contrast, his upper body is quite lean, causing many past 'mentors' to comment that his body is naturally 'disgraceful' and 'disproportionate'. Yet, Bokuto is regarding his thighs with amazement and remarking how “ _awesome_ ” they are, “ _so super advantageous for endurance_ ”, “ _a total_ _powerhouse_ ” for dancing... Akaashi sighs and asks Bokuto to focus.

 

For as transparent as Bokuto is, he is also incredibly mercurial and impulsive. He changes opinion mid-gesture, has a myriad ideas running through his head at all times which he will shoot in rapid disorder or execute without prior notice; a single blunder and he may end up obsessing over it for minutes, or a nice little detail and he will scream in euphoria.

 

Akaashi should be frustrated but instead he ends up noting each and every one of Bokuto's reactions and actions, enumerating them in his head, classifying, categorising, and almost having fun getting to know this strange person, discovering the diverse colours that seem to swirl within the muscular body and bright eyes. He concludes this interest is because of Bokuto's undeniable skill in the art.

 

Because when Bokuto soars, he is like an ethereal being; no wonder he was chosen for the role. Muscles contract and relax, bulge and disappear, emotions of the story unfolding at each movement, on the very expressions of his face, so frankly, brazenly, that it feels surreal, quite a dream than the real... it makes Akaashi smile a little, at the end of it all, and when Bokuto comments about how “pretty” his smile is, it takes more than a bit of an effort to roll his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The next time they see each other, on Monday afternoon, Bokuto's hair can only be described as a legendary bird's nest, for not only its strange shape but also because it has turned pink. Happy, soft, pastel, and… pink.

 

Literally, pink.

 

“What do you think?” He asks, grinning large and pompous.

 

“It...” Akaashi starts but finds it hard to describe. Nevermind the unconventional choice of colour, the style is bizarre, definitely not within Akaashi's aesthetic preference... but. There is a heavy 'but' that hangs in Akaashi's throat, because it looks… at least per as much as he knows... _so Bokuto_. Kind of cute. Almost. Or perhaps cheeky. Carelessly joyous. Charmingly delirious. He is not sure how to describe it all to Bokuto, and it doesn't help that they are barely acquainted, so he opts for, “suits you.” And then adds, as an afterthought: “Very rosy.”

 

Bokuto first bursts into laughter, gleeful up to the brim—making Akaashi shudder with its radiance—then starts explaining about how it occurred to him on a whim at night and he executed it the first thing in the morning and _god_ he really hates bleaching his hair  and _damn_ he will have to bleach the roots again come the time for the show  and he is not sure how their adviser will react but aren't they doing an 'unconventional' reimagining of the piece anyway? _Oh_ and he has never actually liked wearing things on his head so he never wanted to wear that “weird bonnet thing” and _maybe_ _instead_ he can decorate his “magical hair” with little pink roses and glitter and—“ _Wouldn't that be the most awesome thing Akaashi?_ _Huh??_ _Wouldn't it be_ _just_ _super pretty?!_ ”

 

“Yes,” Akaashi sighs, mostly because he is confused over why he is finding this useless babbling so cute. “Shall we start start the practice, Bokuto-san?”

 

(Turns out making a pun in Bokuto's presence was a great mistake; for the next three hours, Bokuto tortures him with puns, again and again, and relents only after Akaashi threatens to leave.)

 

* * *

 

 

“Wow.” Bokuto looks at him with wide eyes and mouth agape. “Akaashi! You eat a lot!”

 

Assuming this is not exactly a statement he is obliged to verbally reply, Akaashi shrugs. Bokuto cracks into a sheepish smile.

 

“So, since you like veggies so much, how about—“

 

“No.”

 

“I didn't even finish my sentence.”

 

“You're going to ask me to eat your vegetables for you and the answer is no.”

 

“You... How?! Can you read minds or something?”

 

Akaashi is about say, _well everyone could read yours_ , but pauses, regarding Bokuto's face with his usual veiled gaze, and curls his lips slightly, the tiniest hint of a smirk, “Maybe.”

 

The way Bokuto gasps and then cackles makes something warm and comfortable drip in Akaashi's chest. He decides having dinner with Bokuto after practising together isn't bad. Maybe he could allow this to happen more often.

 

* * *

 

  
  
It becomes a routine: they practice with Bokuto every other day, in the days they practice they grab dinner together, and they work out three times a week together at the school's gym. Thus, after a month, Akaashi has adapted it very well—he is good with routines. He's always been. Hence, at the end of a busy Thursday, his feet are on auto-pilot to the gym while his mind is busy with the upcoming deadline for that one essay on postmodernist deconstruction of the Swan Lake.

 

“Akaashi!!”

 

According to the routine, he expects to have Bokuto already at the gym, because Bokuto is the type who either arrives very early or very late, and on Thursdays Bokuto's classes actually end early, and therefore he is always early.

 

Which also makes it slightly suspicious that Bokuto decides to stay around in the campus and wait for two hours for Akaashi so that they can work out together but perhaps it is not that 'suspicious' because Akaashi has already noted on multiple occasions how Bokuto stares at him longingly, scans his figure with utter interest, and likes touching him. Also that one time he got a slurp from Akaashi's milkshake and then gushed with a red face about, “ _oops!!_ ”, “ _they just shared an indirect kiss!_ ”

 

What he does not expect is the item Bokuto is holding:

 

Bokuto is grinning large and giddy, literally hopping on the spot, shoulders going up and down excitedly, waving the hot pink tank top in his hands like a small cheering banner.

 

Many hours spent with his elusive partner, Akaashi thought that he's become good at not being surprised at Bokuto… still he cannot help the “oh” that slips out of his mouth and the momentary bemusement.

 

“What do you think about it? Awesome, right??”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“Happy one month anniversary of being my partner! Well, one month and a week… one month and six days! Still more or less a month though!” Bokuto happily shoves the t-shirt onto Akaashi's chest and this one, Akaashi should have deduced faster; he mentally berates himself for not thinking of it right away when he first read what was written on the t-shirt.

 

“Bokuto-san... you didn't have to.”

 

“But I wanted to! Really, I saw this at the regular place I shop and I was like— _this_! This is the ultimate workout tank that Akaashi must have! And I was like then oh wow, would it be weird if I gave it to him but then I was like, well  it's around our one month anniversary so—it is fate Akaashi.”

 

“Yeah,” Akaashi deadpans, unfolding the fabric in his hands to take a second look at the text and exhale, “it was fate that you gave me a hot pink tank top with ' _thick thighs save lives_ ' written on it.”

 

Bokuto's face falls immediately—this is one of Bokuto's most vital weaknesses, Akaashi has noted: he is very easy to lose his confidence if something he wholeheartedly believed in fails, however small.

 

“You—you don't like it? Ah... I guess, it was a bit stupid. And wow. Maybe a bit creepy—wait, am I creepy? Oh God, I am—“

 

“Bokuto,” Akaashi reaches and pats Bokuto's shoulder, promptly drawing his attention, “thank you. You didn't have to but it was a nice gesture. I appreciate it.”

 

“You... do?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Does that mean you will wear it?”

 

Bokuto stares at him so hopeful, so sincere and wanting and Akaashi is saying, “sure”, before he even thinks of an actual answer and he cannot even feel grumpy about how quickly he agreed when Bokuto leaps forward and actually hugs him, smelling warm citrus and feeling like a large clump of sunshine.

 

It turns out Akaashi doesn't look that bad in pink. And Bokuto doesn't either, especially when he smiles, blushing furiously and pointing to his ruffled pink locks, “now we match, huh?”

 

* * *

 

 

 

They are not supposed to work.

 

If they were characters in a novel, Akaashi would scoff at the ridiculousness of the smoothly established ease and inexplicable chemistry. _Where's the development?_ he'd ask; _Where's the logic—they are not supposed to be so compatible?_

 

Yet they are real and they work and they work so, so well that perhaps reality is, as they say, stranger than fiction; another look at Bokuto trying to leap over a cello, _yes, indeed_ —nothing fictional could be as infinitely intriguing as Bokuto Koutarou and the fortuitous bond between them in full bloom.

 

“Stop goading him Kuroo-san,” Akaashi yells—or rather states slightly loudly, he is not one made for actual 'yelling', and Kuroo laughs. Luckily, Kenma lifts his head to glare at his best-slash-boyfriend that Kuroo starts pulling Bokuto back from another try at it.

 

Akaashi wasn't very sure about doing a study session with them for Philosophy of Music, but he is rather glad he surrendered. He gets on well with Kenma, who is definitely a violin prodigy as Bokuto touted earlier, though he tries hard to remain lowkey. Kuroo on the other hand is witty and kind in a sarcasm laced bundle—it is not upsetting to admit that his humour fits Akaashi's. He will still not admit it verbally, just yet.

 

At the end of two hours and forty-four minutes spent either doing silly things or debating about 'meanings', Bokuto announces that he will bless them with a short performance of his favourite routine from last year's final lyrical modern solo assignment.

 

“There is no music.” Akaashi reminds him but Bokuto laughs.

 

“There is,” he winks, “I can always hear when I want to...”

 

He starts almost in the instant he hops onto the stage; audacious and yearning at once, his arms and legs move, they roar in the next few seconds and Kenma starts humming the tune softly.

 

“'Crazy in Love',” Kuroo whispers to Akaashi, an affectionate grin on his face, “suits him, doesn't it?”

 

Akaashi can only nod, eyes inseparable from the flesh turning into pure energy and then back—all in front of him.

 

Bokuto Koutarou is a miracle, he decides.

 

* * *

 

 

“My sister is coming to watch the performance!”

 

“That sounds lovely Bokuto-san.”

 

“Yup, yup! Anyone coming from your family?”

 

“My mums. I'm an only child.”

 

“Oh o—okay. Your mums?!”

 

“Yes, my mums.”

 

“You have two mums?”

 

Akaashi raises one of his eyebrows—of all people he didn't expect Bokuto to have a problem with this. “Yes,” he bites out, the single syllable carrying the dare he rarely dishes out. It flies right over Bokuto though, who frowns tremendously instead, Akaashi bites inside of his lips.

 

“So unfair.” Bokuto whines then. “So unfair! I want two mothers too! Goddamn it. My dad is suuuuch a pain in the ass man… He keeps nagging me about why I didn't become an athlete… meh. I would have loved to have two mums.”

 

Sigh of relief mixes to a snort, Akaashi tries to hide it behind a small cough.

 

“It's not necessarily better. My mums weren't very happy with my career choice either.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Sucks man.”

 

“It's okay. I'm stubborn.”

 

“That you really are!” Bokuto slaps Akaashi's shoulder with enough force to make any frail person collapse. Thankfully Akaashi is not frail.

 

* * *

 

 

For two whole days, Bokuto doesn't message or call him. When finally, on the third day, Akaashi texts him to ask if everything is alright, he receives no reply.

 

Bokuto normally doesn't take longer than ten seconds to return them.

 

There are only fourteen days before their performance and any practice lost matters. Also Akaashi has missed having his personal tempest whirling around pretty much every single day. Rationally speaking, Bokuto could be busy with something else. Bokuto could be disinterested in spending some time with Akaashi. Bokuto could have lost his phone. Bokuto could have caught flu. Bokuto could be—Akaashi decides to send a message to Kuroo about Bokuto's whereabouts.

 

Kuroo calls in response.

 

“He's not feeling very well… I was actually going to ask you to check up on him. He should be at the roof of the Aoyama Building.”

 

Roofs are normally closed to anyone but the facility staff, but as hinted, the door to the five-floored rectangular building's wide roof is unlocked. And indeed, Bokuto is there.

 

He is dancing.

 

Pained yet overflowing with motion, he moves on the roof, pink hair daring the blue expanse of the sky above and the grey of the concrete below. It must hurt, as he jumps and falls and drags his feet on the unideal surface, but there isn't a trace of awareness on his face, despite every feature of him aching with feeling, but it is not something about the moment there—Akaashi can read that much.

 

It takes a few minutes for Akaashi to decide to not disturb Bokuto but simply watch. How many more minutes does it take for Bokuto to finish his improv, Akaashi does not know, he cannot keep track, as his soul is enraptured in Bokuto's figure, so desperate and begging for freedom in the open air.

 

Only when Bokuto lies down in a perfectly fluid move and does not get up again that Akaashi walks over and makes himself known.

 

“Hey.”

 

Bokuto covers his face with his hands—beyond the usual roughness, they are red from overuse; Akaashi wonders for how long Bokuto was dancing.

 

Questions populate his mind like an overcrowded metro car and faster than light, but he pushes them away and instead leans, hovering above Bokuto and shielding him from the glare of the sun.

 

“Do you want to go grab lunch?” He offers a hand. “My treat.”

 

He is afraid of rejection for the first time in his relationship with Bokuto, for the silence that only he interrupted continues its slither like the heinous snake in Eden.

 

“Okay...” Bokuto answers ultimately, barely audible and almost broken, just as Akaashi's hope was dwindling to nothing.

 

He pulls Bokuto up and doesn't let Bokuto's hand go. They don't talk—most significantly, Bokuto does not talk, during the walk down to the lobby or in the cafeteria of the building across, outside single word responses, he mostly keeps to himself. He feels fragile in Akaashi's touch; body shattered into bare spirit, so flippant and ready to drift away, intrinsically uncontainable.

 

Despite the obvious awkwardness of it all, as they part Bokuto considers him and then tugs him to an embrace; perhaps against all his capacity to disappear, he just does not want to—at least not from Akaashi… Akaashi hopes. 

 

“Thank you,” Bokuto says, the first words of the day that are not actually due to a question Akaashi asked. Embrace is short, a few seconds only, and soon Bokuto is out of his space and on the road to the room he shares with Kuroo beyond the other side of the campus.

 

But Bokuto's presence stays on his clothes and skin, the hug lingering, an exception in the flow of time. Reality bends on itself and worries do not leave Akaashi and he wishes they were closer, so that he could tag along home with Bokuto, have some herbal tea together, maybe watch that owl documentary Bokuto was talking about non-stop last week.

 

He decides then, he will get there, they will get there, eventually.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you want to go to a flower shop?”

 

“Huh?” Bokuto stops his lazy stretching and gawks at Akaashi.

 

“I thought a trial run for your stage hair-do would be good?”

 

Bokuto's eyes shine like a pair of amber basking in the sun and he is up and about in a blink.

 

“Great idea! But we need to drop by a dollar store to get some glitter too.”

 

“Using just anything would not be good for you hair… I have a friend who works in this store that sells organic, natural stuff. They wash away easily too.”

 

“For real?! You're a life-saver Akaashi!”

 

Akaashi groans when Bokuto hurls his bulky body on top of his lithe one, but the weight is a pleasant one, especially when Bokuto is finally giggling.

 

He hasn't realised the extent of just how much he's missed it until actually hearing. Sound waves reverberate on his skin like the calming lullaby of a supernatural granny.

 

“Do you want to get some for you too? I bet you'd look great with some red rosebuds.”

 

“Bokuto-san… I don't think it would fit my role.”

 

“What role. I'm talking about _you_ you.  Like doing it just for the fun you know. I think you'd be beautiful… not that you're not already beautiful. You're always beautiful Akaashi.”

 

“Thank you and please get off me.”

 

“Hmm… you sure? You seem comfortable.”

 

“How could I be when you are on top of me?”

 

They both turn crimson within millisecond of that exchange and disentangle in a hurry… but the idea keeps occupying Akaashi all day and night, even in his sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“I was born ready!”

 

Bokuto beams and Akaashi huffs—such a big lie. Bokuto had a minor freak-out only fifteen minutes ago when one of the roses dropped off his hair. Akaashi wants to touch it miserably; the unruly rose coloured mane that truly looks mythical, alluring, and whimsical. The glitter makes it shimmer under the light and Akaashi is certain it will look even better under the spotlight. Bokuto squeezes his hand.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“Let's go then!”

 

As Akaashi's brain is processing every syllable, unholy results start erupting everywhere. They will go there and perform and they will perform wonderfully, stunningly, get good grades—none of that Akaashi doubts. He trusts in Bokuto, he trusts in himself, he trusts in their effort and talent and if fate cruelly cheats them somehow, it is not their fault. They can survive defeat. What scares him is not stage fright, he computes just as Bokuto grips his hand stronger, ready to tug him away to the work ahead, and their possible end.

 

They are in different years. Their desired specialities are different. They only share one other class and that requires once a month group-study at most. Bokuto is resilient and Akaashi is equally so but very well Bokuto could be jumping out that window forever and—it is silly, this fear; it is silly and Akaashi doesn't do silly, normally.

 

Still, he stands where he is, like an unmoveable rock, grasping Bokuto's attention and confusion.

 

“Akaashi?”

 

“Bokuto… do you want to go have dinner after the performance?”

 

“Uh, sure? Hah, to be honest I had already thought—“

 

“I mean as a date.”

 

It could, in fact for many reasons it should, break their calm, poke their balance, and set them awry; such a proposition just before a major play. With anyone else, Akaashi would never do such a thing. If someone else asked advice about doing it, he would vehemently advise against it.

 

But Akaashi trusts in Bokuto and Akaashi trusts in himself and the night before as they watched the video of their final mock, Bokuto put his head on Akaashi's shoulder and everything was perfect.

 

Bokuto sputters for a moment but soon gains his composure, laughs even, cheeks changing colour to match his hair.

 

“Damn! I was gonna ask you after… you know after the performance. You're fast Akaashi...”

 

“Is that bad?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“That I am fast?”

 

“Are you kidding, it's just one of the many things that make you awesome.”

 

“If you keep saying it so much, I'll ask for a list of them all.”

 

Akaashi starts padding finally, the traitorous knot of uncertainty successfully resolved and set to dissolve in his belly.

 

“Sure, I'll make one tomorrow.”

 

“It was a joke.”

 

“No worries, I'll still make one.”

 

“Please don't make one Bokuto-san.”

 

“I won't if you call me Koutarou.”

 

“Koutarou...”

 

Bokuto holds his breath staring at Akaashi, who is aware of how pregnant the quiet is. This is why Akaashi smiles, carefully separating their hands and moving forth, uttering one last word before leaving for the stage:

 

“ _Merde_.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case any of you are interested, "[Le Spectre de la Rose](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Spectre_de_la_rose)" is a lovely, short ballet. This is the main piece that Bokuto and Akaashi are working on; Bokuto is dancing The Rose. 
> 
> Yes, the song Bokuto danced to was Crazy in Love by Beyoncé; youtube for some amazing examples of lyrical modern dance interpretations of it. I've never seen it done by a man, though I think Bokuto would rock it. 
> 
> The song Bokuto dances to on the roof is Sia's Breathe Me... My personal favourite interpretation of the song in dance is [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGyR1o-ud4M); some of Bokuto's moves, including the ending, matches this one...


End file.
